Sir John ate heartily; and his host did not ply him with many questions until he had finished a huge platter of meat, and discussed a jorum of ale. “Hast ridden far, Sir John?” “From Bovey only.” “Which way, round Moreton or by the Becky?” “By the Becky, where I narrowly escaped the Gubbings.” “The Gubbings!” and the squire with difficulty repressed a malediction, which rose to his lips. “They are like wasps, kill one, a hundred come to his funeral. Only last month we caught a party of them red-handed, and hung them up on the spot, for they are not Christians or Englishmen, and we thought it wasn’t worth while to trouble judge or jury over them. There we strung them up from the beeches of Holme Chase, the prettiest beech-nuts honest eyes could rest upon--five men, two women, and three boys; yet they are not frightened away from these parts yet.” “Nor ever will be unless you hunt them from the moor with bloodhounds.” “It _may_ come to that; they are a plague-spot in the Commonwealth, and especially upon our fair country of Devon. But what news from court, Sir John?” “The King’s Majesty’s health is better, but he hath been sorely tried by the humour of one Dr. Crome, who preached in a sermon, that no one could approve of the dissolution of the monasteries, and at the same time admit the usefulness of prayers for the souls in purgatory; his majesty thought the speech levelled against himself, and Dr. Crome being examined before the Council, criminated ex-Bishop Latimer and many others. Crome and Latimer saved themselves by recantation, but Anne Askew, a maid of honour about the court; Adlam, a tailor; Otterden, shame to say, a priest; and Lascelles, a gentleman in waiting, have all been burnt alive at Smithfield. Shaxton, late Bishop of Worcester, smelt strongly of the faggot, but he recanted just in time, and preached the funeral sermon over his late allies as they smouldered.” “That reminds me of the old song,” said the Justice, “which they sang in France when I made my first essay in arms there, the King was young then. “‘Apotre de Luthere, Si l’on brule ta chair, C’est seulement que tu saches d’avance Les tourments d’enfer.’”[33] “Well, for the witch and for the heretic a faggot is the best cure. What else is going on?” “They say that an ingenious mechanist has invented a machine to move the King upstairs and down in his chair without difficulty; he is so corpulent that little trace is left of the princely gallant of the Cloth of Gold.” “Queen Catharine has a hard time of it?” “She is a good nurse, but she is careful not to cross the royal temper.” “There are five good examples set before her in her predecessors.”